


Standing right in front of (wait forever)

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><a href="http://sobota.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://sobota.livejournal.com/"></a><b>sobota</b>'s request was for a porny Bob/Patrick. Title from <i>Signal Fire</i> by Snow Patrol.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Standing right in front of (wait forever)

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://sobota.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sobota.livejournal.com/)**sobota** 's request was for a porny Bob/Patrick. Title from _Signal Fire_ by Snow Patrol.

By the time Bob realized that Patrick was the kind of person he'd be happy to have around, like all the time, it was already too late. Warped was winding down, everyone was operating on _fumes_ , and the two weeks that Patrick had spent sending him very secretive smiles and accosting him in very private corners were taking on a dream-like quality. A fucking _awesome_ dream, because anyone with eyes in their heads could see Patrick's mouth was the stuff of x-rated fantasies.

And yeah; he'd managed to fuck it up royally, in perfect understated Bryar fashion.

"I don't know if you'd want to, I dunno," Patrick had said to him as they'd lounged around in the mostly deserted MCR bus, his shoulder warm against Bob's as they sat on the sofa. Anyone walking in from outside couldn't tell that fifteen minutes ago, Patrick's tongue had been traversing over his cock as they curled awkwardly in the bunk.

"Want to what?" Bob twisted his game-control to one side, smirking as Patrick made an annoyed noise beside him. Patrick was good, but not as good as Bob Bryar.

"You know. After Warped, we could. You know."

Bob blinked at the screen and then turned to stare at Patrick, who was flushed red to the roots of his hair. "I don't know if that's... like. Workable."

Patrick paused the game, his gaze fixed on the control in his hands for a few beats. It was very dark against his pale skin. "Yeah, we're both really busy, shit like that," and he sounded strained. He tossed the game-control down as he stood up; it slid off the sofa and onto the ground with a muffled _thump_. "I'll see you later," was the last thing he said before walking out.

 _Later_ never came, since Patrick apparently began to pretend that Bob didn't exist, and Pete's attention shifted from Mikey and landed on Bob in the form of dark glowers. Gerard gave him piercing looks but Bob ignored them all; didn't matter. It was just a thing.

Just a summer thing.

*

So he thought it would have been awkward when he and Patrick shared that apartment. At least, when he'd said, "Sure, it's totally no problem," he'd expected for this to be an empty platitude and there would be long, uncomfortable moments of silence. But Patrick had simply put his bags and instruments in the second room, gathered a few cymbals out of Joe's helping arms and bickered with Pete about something random before grinning at Bob.

"Hey, roomie," he said and it was alright.

It was too alright. They went through the days in companionable existence; Patrick kept his natural disorder confined to his room, and Bob didn't make a big issue about the state of the kitchen after Patrick's distracted attempts at making pancakes. They mostly kept out of each other's way and it had Bob fucking _itching_ , because there was no mention of That Summer, no mention of the way Patrick's lips had tightened every time he had glanced in Bob's direction. No mention at all; just all _we're all cool here, dude_ , relaxed shit like that.

So it shouldn't have been a big deal when he came home to find Patrick being ravished on the couch by some guy.

It's just. He liked that couch; it was a _good_ couch, and Patrick shouldn't be _moaning_ on it like that, sprawled over the strange dude with that guy's hand inside the open fly of his jeans. When the door slammed behind Bob, they both jumped. Patrick turned quickly around and Bob stared at his plump lower lip, red and slick.

"Sorry," Patrick said in a hoarse voice, his cheeks bloomed red. "We. This is Jay. He's the, he works at the studio--"

"Hey," Bob greeted shortly and stalked off to his room. He switched on his laptop but scowled at the screen as he heard Patrick's door open and close, and the low melodic sound of Patrick's laugh.

"You're pissed, I totally understand," Patrick said apologetically the next morning, sitting at the table and drumming his fingertips on the white surface. "That won't happen again, sorry about that."

"It's cool," Bob said flatly, considering his coffee-cup. "I'm not pissed."

"Oh." Patrick gave a short laugh. "Oh, ok. Cause... yeah, ok."

Bob didn't ask, _ok what_? Even though he dearly wanted to.

*

"So, where's Jay?" Bob asked when his raging curiosity finally got the better of him; he hadn't seen Jay in a few days. After a whole week of Jay's slightly cloying presence (he liked the rub his nose against Patrick's cheek and pronounce him 'Sir Cutie'), it was nice with just him and Patrick, even though they weren't having particularly deep conversations.

Patrick swallowed a spoonful of cereal and shrugged.

"I thought you guys were--"

"It's just fucking," Patrick said in a very noncommittal tone. Bob stared at him and Patrick stared back, challengingly. "You'd know all about that, right?"

"Wow, and here I thought you'd let _that_ go," Bob finally managed after he gathered his shocked wits. Patrick was giving him a very dirty glare; Bob narrowed his eyes in return.

"Yeah," Patrick snapped and then shook his head, his face resigned. He shrugged almost listlessly. "I thought so too. But shit happens."

And he went back to moodily chomping his cereal, glaring at Bob every time he thought about opening his mouth.

*

"You better be nice to Patrick," Pete threatened in a completely unsolicited phone-call. "I can't deal with a pissed-off Patrick in the studio, it's like dealing with a little human earthquake. That throws shit at me like a monkey. A monkey-earthquake."

Bob hung up on him.

"I heard you weren't being cool with Patrick?" Ray said tentatively one day over the phone and Bob made an irritated scoff. "Patrick is a cool dude, you should be cool with him."

Bob hung up on him too, but he was more polite about it.

Andy Hurley called and said, "Dude, Patrick is pissed at you in a totally passive-aggressive way, mainly because he's really into you, has been for a long time and he doesn't want to make a big deal, but he actually is. Get it?"

Bob said, "Oh. Well. Thanks for that, man," and Andy said, "Hey, everyone is being stupid and beating around the fucking bush. And I'm tired of it. But he throws things at Pete, that's kind of funny."

He hung up on Bob, but Bob didn't really mind.

"Hi," Patrick told him tiredly when he trudged past Bob's open bedroom door. Bob took a few deep breaths, stepped out of his bedroom and grabbed onto Patrick's arm as he was opening his own door.

He had Patrick pressed against the wall, one knee sliding between his thighs as Patrick dropped whatever he had in his hands, gazing up at Bob's intent face in surprise.

"I could have," Bob explained, one hand pressed flat against Patrick's chest before sliding up the cup around the back of his neck. He kissed Patrick once, a short quick press of lips, before explaining, his voice emerging gruff and harsh: "I could have. After Warped. _We_ could have, I mean."

Patrick gave him a wide-eyed look, before he started to shake his head. Bob kissed him again, and Patrick's lips parted willingly under his. He licked his way into Patrick's mouth and they kissed until Bob had to literally tear his face away and press his forehead against Patrick's, breathing deeply.

"Okay," Patrick said and pulled away, bending briefly to pick up the messenger-bag he had been hauling around. "I'm not going to do this again," he said in a completely steady voice, at odds with the tautness at the corners of his eyes. "Not worth it."

Bob tried to grab onto his arm, but Patrick slipped through his fingers like water through a basket and then he was staring at the white surface of Patrick's closed door.

*

"I dunno," Gerard said sagely when they spoke later. Bob made a truncated exhale. "Depends on what you want."

"I don't know."

"Well," Gerard said and there was a clinking sound on his end of the line, the sound of a spoon dancing in a coffee-cup. "That's where you'll want to be, I guess."

Bob didn't try to correct him, since that's what Gerard probably really meant, _where you'll want to be_.

Since Bob wasn't really the talking type, where he _wanted_ to be went like this:

Getting up out of bed and going out to the hall, turning left and pulling open Patrick's door. Patrick was sitting on the floor, in the act of placing a sheet of paper on the ground to join its many brethren. He was in boxers and a worn grey t-shirt, looking homely and comfortable and delicious.

"So, are you here to tell me that you're going to make it all worth it?" Patrick asked tiredly and pushed at another small pile of papers with his toes. "Cause I can't even--hey, don't do that," he complained, glowering when Bob knelt on the carpet, pushed the papers away and kind of grappled with Patrick until he stopped trying to tear some hair out of Bob's head and lay flat on the floor underneath Bob, flushed with exertion and breathing hard.

"You done?" Bob kissed him on his cheek, the tip of his nose, the slope of his shoulders under his shirt. "I'm here to make it all worth it."

"Jeez," Patrick muttered, but there was a small smile playing on his lips and his eyes were bright. "I kind of don't believe you. Just so you know."

"I get it," Bob said and set out to make a point.

*

Patrick's body was just as he remembered, pale curves and those sturdy shoulders that Bob liked to touch endlessly for some reason. Patrick made a lot more noise than he recalled, soft groans and a few terse commands as Bob fingered him.

Bob kind of liked being ordered around, actually. It was novel.

"Ow," Patrick breathed as Bob pushed slowly inside him, his hands slipping a little on Patrick's hips, slick from the lube he had slathered on his cock and inside Patrick.

Bob stopped with great effort and groaned as Patrick wriggled a little, causing Bob to sink deeper inside him.

"Better," Patrick said and grinned up at him; Bob felt something curl in his chest. "Um. Okay, go."

Patrick's eyes were fixed on his face, lips parted slightly until Bob's hips cradled his ass. Then, he bit his lip and Bob licked his round chin and hoped he could do this again, maybe do this over and over and _over_.

He was so tight and warm and... and _here_ ; Bob buried his face in Patrick's neck, inhaling his scent and Patrick's hand curled around his neck, holding him there. Patrick came before him, shaking as Bob fucked him right through it as Patrick gasped, spurting warm and sticky between them.

Bob came a little more silently, but when his softened cock slipped out of Patrick, eliciting a wince, he mouthed at his neck and muttered, "We. We can be workable. I'd really like that," and Patrick's arms tightened around him.

_fin_


End file.
